


Tinker, Tailor, Doctor, Spy

by j9ac9k



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Clandestine Encounters, M/M, Or is there?, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, but I might write a plot one day maybe, but not much actual spy craft, cold war au, real world AU, sovietSpy!Garak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j9ac9k/pseuds/j9ac9k
Summary: Julian is a recently graduated doctor, alone and far from home. Garak is a tailor of uncertain origins and intent.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 20
Kudos: 56





	Tinker, Tailor, Doctor, Spy

**Author's Note:**

> I had this great idea for a cold war spy thriller staring Garak and Bashir, but it turns out spy thrillers are actually quite hard to plot so I just wrote smut in that setting instead. 
> 
> Everyone is human and it's set somewhere in the US. For Garak, imagine out of face Andrew Robinson c. 1990 but with longish dark hair. For Bashir, imagine whatever you'd like, just make sure he's wearing a really depressing 1970s business-casual look.

Julian stood in front of the shop door, fiddling with the business card in his hand. This was the address alright, "Garak's Clothiers, 2-485, The Promenade," which turned out to be the name of a strip of shops that ran either side of a pedestrian thoroughfare about a fifteen minute walk north of the hospital. The storefront was small and unimposing, pinned as it was, between a chemist and a liquor store. There was just enough window space for one impeccably dressed mannequin who looked down on Julian with what he imagined was mocking contempt. He shot her a sideways glance. She stared implacably back at him. 

"God, I know, alright? Why don't you just keep it to yourself." He muttered and then sighed. 

Right, if he was out here in the cold talking to shop dummies anyway, what more did he have to lose? He stuffed the card in his coat pocket and rapped on the glass door with the back of his gloved hand. This was silly anyway, what made him think Mr. Garak would even still be in his shop at this time of night?

"Do stop by anytime," had been said with a smile that had edged very close to being a leer, "if you're ever in need of a new suit or simply some enjoyable company," and with that the business card had been pressed into Julian's hand, with a touch that lasted just a little longer than it really should have. But even so, there was "anytime", and then there was 9pm on a Wednesday night. 

He was just about to give it up and walk back home when he saw a shift in the shadows on the other side of the frosted glass, and with a jingle the door was opened to reveal Garak. The smile he greeted Julian with had an undertone of pleased satisfaction. As if he'd been counting on Julian to show up on his doorstep this chilly November night in particular. Which, Julian reminded himself with a firm warning to get a grip, was patently ridiculous. 

"Ah, Dr. Bashir, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He stood back from the door, motioning Julian into the shop. 

"Good evening Mr. Garak, I'm afraid I -," 

"Please doctor, just plain, simple Garak," said Garak, holding up a hand to stop Julian mid-sentence.  
"Alright," he smiled, "But I should tell you, I don’t actually need a new suit," Julian said, shrugging off his coat. He figured it was better not to start with any pretense in that department, just in case he ended up buying a set of new clothes he couldn't really afford. 

"Some enjoyable company then?" Garak gave him a knowing smile as he took Julian's coat from him, hanging it on a stand that stood beside the door. 

"Something like that, yes." Julian did not meet his eye, pulling off his gloves and bending over to stuff them into the pocket of his coat. 

He glanced about at the racks of clothes that lined the walls, following Garak deeper into the interior of the shop, which went much further back than he would have supposed from the street. Suits on one side, in a collection of muted browns and greys, and jewel toned formal dresses on the other, partitioned like bashful teenagers at a school dance by the shop floor between them. 

The room was dark, away from the street lights that filtered in through the front windows it was lit only by a desk lamp on the counter near the back of the room. Next to the lamp a hard backed ledger sat open; Garak had presumably been doing the books when Julian had come knocking. Behind the counter a workbench and a complicated looking sewing machine took up the better part of the back wall. 

The green glass of the lamp shade cast unnaturally coloured shadows around the room, making Julian feel as if he'd stepped out of the real world and into some other time and place. As if he and Garak were alone together at the bottom of the ocean, or on some alien planet, peopled by the blank faced mannequins that stood impassively displaying the shop's wares. 

"A tea perhaps?" Garak gestured to an ottoman near the counter. The shop was actually rather sparse on furniture, which Julian supposed was due to the fact that people usually got fitted for clothes standing up. 

"Oh, yes. Thank you, tea would be lovely" he looked up from dragging the ottoman over to see Garak disappearing into a back room. 

He sat, straight backed, and met the unflinching gaze of a second mannequin, this one modelling a pleated pinafore in a sensible, understated paisley.

"Should I have come here?" He mumbled half to himself and half to the mannequin, deciding that she at least looked less judgemental than her friend in the window. 

Why had he come, knocking on the door of a man who he'd met once? In search of what? Tea and sympathy? Of course, he knew the reason. Because his flat was terribly cold and very very empty. Because he'd heard one of the residents on the ward say "wog doctor" again and his ears had burned and he'd not dared to look up from the clipboard he'd been holding until he was sure they had left the room. And because he wasn't so naive as to not know what had been meant by "enjoyable company". Not with that look and that smile and that lingering touch. And right now he wanted so badly to be wanted, because it seemed like nobody in this whole god forsaken city on the far side of the ocean did. And so, shrugging his coat on and turning to face the freezing night air as he left from his shift, he had pulled the little business card out of his wallet and headed north. 

He narrowed his eyes at the mannequin, "Don't give me that look." 

"I'm sorry, what was that, doctor?"

He was shaken from his thoughts by Garak, reemerging with two cups of tea, delicate little glass cups set in metal holders. 

"Nothing, sorry, just thinking out loud," Julian accepted the cup that was offered to him, watching the little beads of condensation where the steam hit the inside of the glass. 

Garak set the other cup down and deftly adjusted a lever on the stool behind the counter so that it dropped to match the height at which Julian sat. Taking up his own cup, he sat down across from Julian. "I find they do not know how to make proper tea in this country," he reflected, blowing delicately at the steam rising from his cup. 

Julian smiled at that, he had often found himself thinking the same thing, although he doubted, looking at the raised pattern of vines that decorated the rim of the tea cup, that he and Garak shared the same idea of what constituted "proper tea". 'Let it stew until the inside of the pot is orange and then stir in enough sugar that the spoon stays standing up' was how they'd always done it at home. And god, he must have been lonely, because even thinking about his mum's various crimes against tea gave him an aching sense of homesickness. 

"This is very pretty though," Julian held up the tea cup in its metal holder to see it better in the dim of the room, catching, by the lamp light, what might have been an embossed crest. "Where are they from?" 

Garak shrugged. "I forget exactly, they were a gift. Russia, or Georgia maybe."

"Is that where you're from? I mean originally?" 

Garak had the good grace to smile at the artlessness of that. Internally, Julian cringed. He'd been on the receiving end of that line of inquiry often enough, he ought to have the good manners just to mind his own business. But there was something about the mystery Garak seemed to deliberately cultivate about himself that made Julian desperately want to stick his nose in, probably because he knew there was no chance of getting a straight answer out of the man. 

"Where I'm from?" Garak took a sip of his tea, "The city where I was born no longer exists, I'm afraid to say. Nor the country it was in," he paused a moment, looking somewhere far away, "let me say I am European then?"

"A citizen of the world," said Julian with a smile, "that's very cosmopolitan."

Garak returned the smile, raising his tea cup in a mock toast. "Emigres together, we two." 

"Emigres together," said Julian, raising his cup in turn. 

They sat a while in companionable silence, Julian savoring the smokey taste of the tea. Eventually it was Garak who broke the silence. "May I ask what brings a brilliant young doctor so far from home?” 

“Well, I’d have to ask him too.” 

Garak gave a little chuckle at that, but didn’t say anything more, waiting instead for Julian to fill the silence in his own time. 

“I just wanted to be somewhere else,” he said eventually, after a good deal of consideration. It was not an entirely truthful answer, but then again, two could play at being mysterious, couldn’t they? “I applied for every overseas fellowship I came across after I graduated, and ended up here,” he shrugged. 

“Then it’s only, hmm, fate I have to thank that you and I have met?” asked Garak, looking at Julian very directly over his tea cup. 

“Or your stars maybe?” Julian said with an awkward laugh, heart hammering under the intensity of Garak’s gaze. "But something brought you all the way out here selling ladies' dresses?" Julian asked, trying again at probing Garak’s personal history. But, seeing the grin his question was met with, he realised he was hopelessly outclassed in that department. 

"Ladies' dresses?" Garak looked around the shop, almost theatrically, "it pays the bills," he said, purposefully missing Julian's point, "but my real passion,” he said with a look that, if it were possible, had become even more pointed, “is men's fashion." 

Ah, thought Julian. Yes, I think I know what that means.

"Am I correct in assuming, Dr. Bashir, that you have a passion for this subject as well?" 

Julian took a sip of his tea, stalling as he wracked his brain for a good way to say "bisexual" in this impromptu code. 

"Well, I've certainly been known to take an interest, yes. Particularly when the, erm, occasion calls for it." 

That earned him a truly indecent smirk from Garak. "In that case, Dr. Bashir, would you grant me a small favour?" 

Julian swallowed hard, "I suppose so." 

"Could I ask you to try on a few garments of my own making? You have such a beautiful figure, it would, I think, set them off to great effect." 

God, that was hardly even in code. "Yes! I mean, yes, I'd be happy to," Julian stood up quickly, almost managing to spill his remaining tea in the process, his legs seeming to have forgotten how to move in the meantime. 

Garak smiled up at Julian from where he remained sitting on the stool. He extended an open hand to take Julian's tea cup from him. "If you would step in to the fitting room?" He inclined his head slightly, motioning over his left shoulder to a little curtained-off alcove. "I will join you shortly." 

Julian drew aside the curtain and stepped into the fitting room, he looked out to see Garak taking a few jackets off the rack on the far side of the room. He seemed to be putting some consideration into his choice. Maybe that bit about the clothes was more than just a pretense? Julian’s mind whirled frantically with nerves. Just how much playing dress-up was this going to involve? 

He was jolted back to reality by the jangle of curtain rings as Garak entered the fitting room, pulling the curtain closed behind him and casting the pair of them into darkness. He hung the two suit jackets up on the hook on the side wall, and stepped closer to Julian, closing the distance between them. He ran his hand across Julian’s shoulder, letting it rest at his sternum. 

"Now, Doctor Bashir,” Garak toyed gently at the knot of Julian’s tie, not really trying to undo it, “an up and coming young professional like yourself must have many pressing formal occasions where you simply must look your best?” 

Julian swallowed dryly, "could you call me Julian?" 

"Hmmm?" Garak ran the back of his fingers against the line of Julian's jaw, "Doctor Julian then?"

Julian giggled just a little at that, due partly to his racing heart and partly to the ticklish feeling of Garak's fingers against the stubble that had already started to spring up after his long shift. 

"Just Julian, please. I'd like to forget about the doctor part for now." 

"Julian," whispered against the shell of his ear, "just plain, simple Julian."

And Julian felt every hair on his body stand on end as a shiver of anticipation coursed through him. He angled his head down slightly to kiss Garak’s lips, bridging the few centimetres that remained between them. Garak kissed him back, taking Julian's lower lip in his own. Julian could feel Garak's teeth gently tugging at his lip, never more than the barest pressure. He deepened the kiss, pulling at Garak’s shoulders. He wanted to chase away the cloying, constricting feeling, not quite, but something like anxiety, that sat heavy in his chest. 

He half leant, half let himself be pushed, against the back wall of the fitting room. He felt his back bump against the wall, and Garak's body pressed hot against him. He had fucked and been fucked in public bathrooms before, and this was not that. From the hands that deftly unfastened the fly of his pants, to the lips that still nipped, teasingly at his own, this was assuredly something else. Something different and almost unbearably gentle. It was as if Garak was remaining as poised and restrained while he worked Julian to frustration as he had been minutes before, sipping his tea at the shop counter. 

Garak slipped both his hands under the elastic waist of Julian's briefs, making Julian gasp against his open mouth at the feeling of cool hands against his hips. For a moment the kissing stilled, Garak leaning back to look him in the eye, seeking assent. 

"Please." It was almost a whine, and in one swift motion his underwear, and his pants with them, were pulled down about his thighs and he felt the cold air of the room against his now aching erection. 

He looked down to see Garak's right hand reach around and grasp the length of him, and bit his bottom lip to stifle a moan as Garak's thumb brushed over the head of his cock now beading with precum. Looking became too much as Garak gripped him firmly by the shaft and started to rub up and down in a slow easy rhythm, and Julian buried his face in Garak's shoulder, letting out a keening gasp against the fabric of his jacket with every downwards stroke. 

Fingers stroked gently up and down the back of his neck, and the pace of Garak's hand upon his cock slowed. With some effort, Julian lifted his head up from Garak's shirt, and met his worried gaze. Did Garak think he was hurting him? And, god, could anything be farther from the truth? Julian reached up to run his hand through Garak's hair. "That feels," he managed between shaky breaths, "so good." 

Garak smiled back at him, and Julian leant in to kiss him again. It was, despite the hand that was once again firmly working up and down the length of Julian's rock hard penis, a chaste little kiss. Garak closing his lips and pulling back just as Julian started to venture his tongue towards his mouth. Again, Julian tried to kiss him and again Garak pulled back after letting Julian touch his lips for only the briefest of moments, causing him to let out a little whine of frustration as he met the teasing glint in Garak's eyes. 

The small part of Julian's brain that was not going absolutely mad from the insistent friction on his cock supplied the image of him kissing Garak roughly, holding tight to the back of his neck so he couldn't pull away and tease him any more. But that was something very different from what this strange encounter was, and would, he realised, shift the tone to something entirely new that he was not sure he was prepared to pursue. Instead he forced himself to look Garak in the eyes as he tried desperately to focus on anything other than the tight and coiling pressure building in the pit of his stomach, to try and let this all last just a little bit longer. He thought about the hard wall behind his back or about how smooth Garak's hair felt between his fingers, for what little good it did him. 

"I - I'm going to-" he gasped, leaning his forehead hard against Garak's while his hands clutched frantically at the fabric of his jacket.

"By all means, my dear," the fingers of Garak's free hand stroked gently through the hair behind his ear and it was with that that something broke deep inside Julian's chest.

It had been so long since someone had spoken to him like that. So quietly, meaning only for him to hear, and him alone, because for the happiest of moments, nobody else mattered. It certainly hadn't been since he'd come to this bloody country, and not for a while before that either.

And as his muscles tensed and hips spasmed he felt his eyes sting with tears. He came, rutting desperately into Garak's hand, with a sob that felt like it had been wrenched from his body. He burrowed his face in Garak's shoulder, chest aching and shaking with sobs, and felt Garak caress him through the last shuddering aftershocks of his orgasm. 

He stayed that way for a moment, letting the tears he could not stop drip from his chin. He felt Garak's hand at his shoulder and allowed himself to be pushed gently back so that he was leaning against the fitting room wall, and heard Garak make his exit with a rattle of the brass curtain rings. After a short while he heard the sound of running water from the back room. As his senses came back to him he shuffled upright, hastily tucking himself back into his briefs and refastening the fly of his trousers. 

He was just trying to scrub at the tears with the sleave of his jumper, the sobs having died down now to the occasional hiccup when Garak returned, bearing a damp hand towel. He handed it to Julian, "for your face."  
Julian was struck by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. Or was it really thoughtful, he wondered as he wiped his eyes, was Garak just used to reducing young men to tears in the back of his shop? He decided it was not a thought he wished to pursue, and instead let himself forget, for a moment, about everything aside from the pleasant feeling of the damp towel against his stinging eyes. 

He breathed out deeply and handed the towel back to Garak, who had in the meantime produced a handkerchief from somewhere, which he now offered to Julian in exchange for the towel. Julian couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he carefully dried his face. He'd never had someone who'd just fucked him standing upright be quite so solicitous about his well being before. He made to return the handkerchief.

"Oh, do keep it my dear," Garak made a showy gesture around the room, "you can see that is something I have no shortage off." 

"Thanks," Julian smiled, folding the handkerchief away in his back pocket, "I feel like Mr. Tumnus now." 

Garak frowned, "Who is that?" 

"Oh it's from a children's book," Julian shook his head, "No, I can't explain it to you now, not after - . Well, that." he laughed a little to himself, "I mean, there are _levels_ of indecency, and I refuse to drag Lucy into this sordid mess," he could feel the giggles threatening to burst into a fit of hysteria - the adrenaline, homesickness and post-coital endorphins making for a heady cocktail. 

Garak looked at him, not quite seeing the joke, "Some other time, perhaps?" 

"Yes," Julain took a deep breath, getting a hold of himself, "yes, I'd like that." 

He took a pen from off the counter and wrote his address and phone number on the back of an envelope. So it seemed like the highlight of his social calendar would be explaining _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ to a mysterious 'European' tailor, possibly followed by a shag, but not before they were both on the same page regarding anglo-catholic symbolism. 

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that sat beside a display of sunhats. If his nose looked any redder than it normally did, and if anyone even noticed, well, it was easy to blame the weather. And as he turned back towards the hospital and his drafty apartment beyond that, Garak having seen him to the door and back into his coat, he couldn't quite find it in himself to mind the cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Is Garak a spy? Or just a mysterious foreigner who appreciates his own privacy? Is Julian running away from something? And is he about to get tangled up in something else much more serious? Am I ever going to write more of this story? Who knows. 
> 
> This is my first time writing explicit fic, and I'd genuinely appreciate being informed in the comments if there were parts where you couldn't keep track of where everyone's hands were. Of course, comments if you liked it are always appreciated as well!


End file.
